**
“I am Paul White’s
daughter.”
That has always been my claim to
fame. I don’t have older siblings so I
never heard, “are you so-and-so’s little sister?” but I consistently heard,
“Are you Paul White’s daughter?” And when I wasn’t being asked the question, I
was telling people, unprompted. Someone
would come up to me after Mass to compliment my song leading, and if it didn’t
seem like they knew who I was I would say, “I’m Paul White’s daughter.” I was
always so proud to make that fact known.
By the way, Mom, I have equal
pride in telling people “I am Jo
White’s daughter.” When we worked
together at Springwell and someone new joined our staff, I always wanted them
to know of our connection, hoping they’d see even a glimmer of your kindness
and dedication reflected in me.
My parents set out a path for me, not by putting pressure on me or imposing their own dreams for me, but simply by modeling a deeply meaningful and loving life together. It’s no accident that I want to be a social worker like Mom, and a musician like Dad. And a parent like both of them. Somehow they managed to teach me how to be uniquely myself while I simultaneously followed right in their footsteps.
You all know my Dad passed down
the gift of music to me but you may not know he also passed down a talent and
love of writing, and respect for the power of words and language, although
music really is a language too. One way
we shared our gift of writing was through cards. Those of you who know me well know that I am
incapable of signing a simple, “Love, Maria” to a greeting card and instead
must write a novel detailing the specific love I feel for the receiver on that
particular occasion. Dan and I got that
from our parents, who are both beautiful writers, deep thinkers and believers
in proclaiming love at all times. Every occasion was a perfect excuse to pour
our hearts out to each other in a card and articulate once again-but in new
words-the love and gratitude we carried within our relationship.
I have here the card I wrote for
Dad this past Father’s Day, his first Father’s Day as a grandfather. I would like to share it with all of you.
Happy First Father's Day
as a Papa!
I'm glad to be singing
with you at church this weekend. There's truly nothing I love more than
blending our voices together. I thought "Stand By Me" sounded
perfect yesterday. Speaking of which, thank you for standing by me
through all of my storms. You have taught me everything I know about
unconditional love. The sacrifices you have made and continue to make are
clearer to me-and more appreciated than ever-now that I'm a parent, too.
I love all of the things we share in common, both good and bad, because they
have made me the woman I am today, someone I am very proud to be. I have
found meaning and contentment with many of the same things you have: music,
deep reflection, hard work, family, writing, and course, the healing powers of
a good cup of coffee. I love you and I'm so glad Nina has you for a Papa!
Love always, Maria
And then I added,
Sunday, 1:30pm.
Additional thoughts- Watching you directing the choir today (specifically
during the Gloria for some reason) I had a realization: You treat everything
you do as though it's IMPORTANT, as though it's the first time. How many
thousands of times have you conducted a Gloria, and yet today you continued to
give it your all. I realized just how much I've learned about the value
of hard work from you. It leads to excellence and truly gives "Glory
to God." Just had to add that.
In a society that likes
to pretend men are void of emotion, my Dad courageously showed vulnerability, sensitivity,
love, and affection to me and my brother Daniel. He taught us how to love well. He has always been proud of us, in the truest, purest, and simplest
sense. He was a man of incredible
strength even in the face of severe chronic pain which he gracefully endured daily
for many years.
Many of you may know Paul as a serious musician, but he was also a
fun-loving goofball who embraced authentic joy every chance he got. He loved a good play on words and had an
ironic sense of humor. He cherished the
time he spent with his family, his brothers and cousins and their families, as
well as his choir, which was a second family to him. They not only helped him achieve his dream of
making beautiful music but were also a source of laughter and joy. We are so grateful for their presence here
today.
When I was little, I was in the car with my parents
listening to the radio and I asked my father, "Dad, what are those other
notes they're singing?" He explained to me that they were harmonies
to the melody. I'm not sure I understood what he meant at the time, but
as I grew up I often found myself picking up on the harmonies in the songs I
listened to and preferring to sing those notes.
There's something wonderful about embracing and trusting in
those "other notes," even if they don't always come out right. Being one of life’s harmonies also
acknowledges the need for others in the song. My Dad taught me that you don’t
need to be center stage in order to shine your light. You can exude the
fullness of harmony, you can be those other notes of the song and find even
more meaning in your life than you would have otherwise found. I think he would tell me now is a time of
bravely singing new notes and trusting they will create a powerful song.
My daughter Nina’s birth was an affirmation of faith for all
of us, but especially for my Dad. Her
existence provided him with moments of healing and experiences of spiritual
revelation and deepening wisdom. It was
so clear to him that she came directly from God. He even expressed to my Mom that Nina helped
solidify his belief in Heaven. I hope in
his final moments on Earth he remembered that, and knew he was about to return
home to his Father. Dad, we lovingly
place you in God’s arms now. It is well
with my soul.
